How It All Began
by peacefulsands
Summary: Dean and Eliot remember how they first got together and make decisions about where they want their relationship to go in future. Also this is sort of a prequel/sequel to my story "I Keep Your Picture".
1. Chapter 1

**Title : "How It All Began"**  
Fandom:Supernatural and Leverage  
Rating: T (some language and kissing)

**Summary: **Dean and Eliot remember how they first got together and make decisions about where they want their relationship to go in future. Also this is sort of a prequel/sequel to my story "I Keep Your Picture".

Warnings: h/c Dean, end of Season 1 Leverage, Season 4 Supernatural. No spoilers if you've seen to the end of each of those.

**Disclaimer** : All characters belong to the owners and creators of the two TV shows, Leverage and Supernatural and no gain is being made out of this endeavor and no offense is intended.

Huge thanks to charlies_dragon for the awesome art that inspired this story.

* * *

**How It All Began**

_They'd not been on the road long, Bobby still tailing them easily in his truck, Zeppelin playing, Castiel at the wheel in deference to Dean's lingering injuries. Dean had tried to object, but couldn't deny that even with the help Castiel had given him, he still wasn't completely healed and that Castiel was definitely recuperating quicker. At least Castiel had agreed to let him drive later in the day for a while. Dean wasn't about to admit it to anyone, but he missed driving the Impala. It was one of very few constants in his life, something he could rely on. If he took care of the car, the car wouldn't let him down, not like . . . Dean closed his eyes without completing the thought. When he reopened them, he turned his head to look out of the side window and changed the thought. He had people who didn't let him down, Bobby for one . . . Castiel was another, kind of, most of the time . . . He let out his breath slowly and thought of Eliot. Eliot didn't let him down. God he wished things could be different, wished that their lives could be more consistent, allow them the time to be together more often. _

_Dean was jerked from his reverie as Castiel cleared his throat. His eyes dropped to his lap, trying to mask the feeling of guilt at his thoughts. It was a moment or two longer before Castiel actually broke the silence and asked Dean about Eliot. Well, actually all he got as far as saying was 'Eliot' before Dean's mind was screaming 'Deflect!' Before anything else had time to occur to him, Dean recognized his first reaction and took a sharp breath, clamping his mouth shut to not let anything slip past his lips before he'd really had time to consider it. He was so used to not talking about Eliot that he wasn't sure he could even now. Even with Bobby, the one person who'd known the truth, he never really talked about Eliot, beyond asking if the older man had heard from him or knew where he was. Castiel could be like Sam, he could be single-minded and persistent . . . unless Dean hit the right tone for Castiel to back off and leave him be. Somehow he didn't think that it was going to work this time._

_"You mind leaving that conversation 'til later, dude. I was thinking I might get some more sleep, you know, with you driving an' all," Dean offered by way of diversion, hoping that he'd be able to come up with another excuse later, maybe something even more convincing._

_Castiel had that head tilt thing going on, Dean noticed. It just screamed disbelief at him and he felt the guilt surge up in a burst of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. He turned away again, hoping that Castiel wouldn't push it. When Castiel spoke again, Dean knew he wasn't going to get away with subject avoidance this time. "I do not understand why you are not willing to talk about Eliot. You quite clearly care for him and he cares for you so. . ."_

_"Cas!" Dean growled, hoping the warning tone would discourage the angel._

_"Fine, so tell me about how the two of you met." Dean figured that if he had to talk about Eliot at all, this was probably going to be easier than the current situation or why he was keeping things secret from Sam or . . . yeah there were plenty of things he really didn't want to talk about so if he had to talk, how they met was probably going to be one of the easier subjects to handle. He stopped fighting the inevitable and began to tell the tale of how they first met._

I was at Bobby's, you know, just me and him hanging out. I was working for him round the yard on the cars, shit like that. Dad was off on a hunt in . . . in . . .fuck! It was in Windom, just a few hours away. He hadn't wanted me with him, didn't need me there or whatever. In all these years, I always thought . . . I thought it was me, I mean it was . . . but it wasn't, it was about Adam. Dad was pissed at Sam, at me too . . . Sam was gone . . . for good, permanent-like. Dad couldn't decide whether to blame Sam or me or both of us, so I guess he went off to see Adam, the son who was gonna grow up the way he wanted him too. Fuck!

Anyway, Eliot . . . First time I saw him was at Bobby's like I said. He pulled into the yard in this clapped out motor, a disaster on wheels and it was barely on four of them. Never been so thankful for a customer as I was right then 'cos Bobby was giving me grief about some shit or other. I don't remember what but it felt like he'd going on for hours. Anyway turned out that Eliot was on the run. Some deal had gone south, had guys on his tail, but he'd thrown them off, given 'em the slip somewhere between Jacksonville and Sioux Falls. He knew no one would track him to Bobby's, he could be safe there for a while. Problem was the car he was in was barely working. The noise it made pulling in I don't know how he made it that far. Still, did the trick as far as I was concerned, Bobby turned his attention to Eliot.

Even now, Bobby insists he bring his truck in regular to be serviced by him. He's tried to teach him how to look after it himself. To be fair, he's not the disaster under the hood, Sammy is, but he's better at other stuff. Anyway, back then . . . he wanted Bobby to fix the car up, let him keep going, keep running but Bobby wasn't having it. Turned out the car wasn't his, he'd jacked it not far outside Witchita. Tried to detour his way up to Bobby's but the car wasn't up to as much as he wanted, not that it really mattered, he'd lost the tail way before then, somewhere through Alabama, changed cars a few more times since, done the whole round the houses, a little on the highway, a trek on the backroads. Should have taken him a couple of days, add in a little for the detours, the change of cars, all that maybe three days. He was on his eighth day when he got there and two and a half of them had been dragging that sad ass excuse for a car from Witchita. Bobby was furious; told him if he was jacking cars he ought to at least get one that was gonna run!

Bobby only spent ten minutes under the hood, adjusting it so at least Eliot could drive it without everyone looking his way, then told him to clean the car down, make sure there were no prints then came looking for me. He kinda insisted I go help Eliot. We spent a couple hours giving it a valet – car was cleaner than when he took it. Then Bobby sent him out to dump it, told me to follow him in the Impala and bring him back, so I did.  
We took it out towards Jackson. Ironic isn't it, that if we'd driven it for another half hour, I'd have found out what my dad was really playing at. Anyway, on the way back, things were easier, you know, we started chatting in the car and Eliot suggested we stop for beers before heading back to Bobby's. It was good you know, a real opportunity to just unwind, hang out and chill, nothing more than that, just two guys in a bar hanging out. When we finally made it back to Bobby's yard, the man was raging, seriously thought he was gonna give himself a coronary. Yeah, poor guy, I can get it now, but back then, guess I was just a bit of an asshole like that, reminded me too much of my dad. Never realized he was worried we'd been picked up by the police.

* * *

_Eliot grabbed a beer from the fridge before heading out to the swing seat on Bobby's porch. Bobby had been good about letting him stay, said if he wanted to hang out it wasn't a problem and he hoped that he, at least, would be back in a few days, a week tops and he was hoping to get Dean to come back too. Eliot felt better knowing that Bobby had gone with Dean and Castiel after the fiasco of the last confrontation, wished he had gone with them in a way . . . but he knew his limitations. The last thing he needed to be was a liability in a fight when he didn't know what he was doing or to be the one who split Dean's loyalties or distracted his focus. Sitting here worrying was going to give him an ulcer though if he wasn't careful. He let his mind wander back over the years he'd known Dean, remembering the first time they met._

He'd driven into the yard, something under the hood making an ungodly squeal for the last fifty or more miles, that wasn't even counting how often he'd had to stop and refill the radiator and how many prayers he'd said en route that the car would just make it a little further, just to within sight of the next town, next gas station. He hadn't been expecting to actually make it as far as Bobby's but what was one more prayer this time to say thank you rather than beg for something he didn't believe he'd get. He was surprised to see Bobby standing in the yard shouting at a young man, arms flailing in exasperation before he'd grabbed the figure by the back of the neck and pulled him forward seemingly finishing his diatribe close in, clearly hoping that the young man would take notice. Eliot wasn't sure it was having any effect, when the stranger pulled away, shaking loose of Bobby and turning toward the house. It was a bit of a surprise to see him head rapidly inside and it occurred to Eliot for the first time that perhaps Bobby had a son. Just because he'd never met one or heard Bobby say anything about one, didn't necessarily rule it out. He winced as he caught sight of the young man's face just before he turned completely and saw a black eye and bruising on his jaw. He turned his attention back to Bobby who had thrown up his arms up in despair before turning and focussing in on Eliot himself.

Bobby crossed immediately to the car and peering in, greeted Eliot gruffly. He turned his attention immediately to finding out what the problem with the car was and Eliot figured that he was out of luck in his hope that Bobby might let him stay for a few days. By the time he'd popped the hood and joined Bobby to look inside, purely because it was the right thing to do and not because he knew what he was looking for, Bobby was already prepared with a barrage of questions. Eliot didn't bother pretending and just came straight out with his explanation of the job he was running from and why, where he'd got the car and why.

Bobby gave a sad shake of his head before saying he would do enough to get him back on the road, but he wasn't going to waste time fixing up a pile of junk. Instead he sent Eliot inside to get cleaning supplies with the instruction to get Dean and for the two of them to go over the car and get rid of 'every goddamn last trace of anything that might point to Eliot'. Only sparing time for a quick 'yessir', Eliot was moving immediately for the porch to follow out his orders. He called Dean's name as soon as he was inside the door, surprised when the young man appeared almost immediately. He gave a quick explanation of the instructions. Dean just nodded and headed to the cupboard below the kitchen sink, coming back out a moment or two later with the supplies they'd need. Despite Eliot's expectation that there would be some sort of reluctance on the younger man's part to helping out, there was nothing. Dean barely said a word beyond asking Eliot to pass things he needed as he cleaned the front seating area while Eliot worked his way through the back, but he applied himself and the two of them were soon finished.

As they both climbed back out of the car, it was Dean that called across to Bobby saying they were done. Bobby crossed the yard and gave the car a quick once over as if he'd be able to tell just by looking whether there were any leftover fingerprints. He then looked appraisingly at both young men before turning to Dean and giving directions to a lake out near Jackson, checking that Dean knew the one he meant, saying it should take about two and a half hours to get there, maybe a little longer given the state of Eliot's stolen car. When he turned back, Bobby just gave Eliot the instruction to follow Dean, dump the car where and how Dean said and then to come back with him in his car. Dean was already heading back into the house in search of his own keys.

Eliot was impressed when Dean strode across to a sleek black Impala, opening the door and starting up the engine with a roar. He watched as the younger man turned the car round and then wound down the window to speak before Eliot climbed back into his car. "You alright with following me? Any problems, flash your lights and we'll pull off." He paused long enough for Eliot to agree and get himself settled in his car with the engine running before pulling across to the driveway ready to exit out onto the road.

Eliot stood by the lake, watching as the car sank slowly below the surface, Dean a silent figure at his side. The sun had set an hour before, the nearby road was silent, there hadn't been another car past in the time they'd been here. Given the circumstances, that was a good thing, even less chance of anyone seeing anything suspicious. With the car out of sight and a few stray trails of bubbles reaching up to the surface, Eliot figured it was down to him to break the silence, so he started with an apology. "Listen, dude. You know I'm sorry about dragging you out here, getting you involved in this shit, you having to help me with the cleaning an' all."

Somehow it was no surprise when Dean just shrugged and turned back to churn the mud more, hiding the tracks where the car had run down into the lake. Eliot let the matter drop, instead turning to help Dean hide their tracks. He didn't speak again until they were back in the Impala and on the road back toward Sioux Falls. "I'm sorry that your Dad . . ." he didn't get any further before Dean cast him an intimidating glare.

"What do you know about my Dad?" he spat the words out like Eliot had been about to physically attack him rather than something as mundane as apologize for Bobby getting him involved in this little excursion.

"Dean, I – I'm sorry is all, I never expected that your Dad would rope you into helping me clean up the car and then send you out to help me get rid of it! I just wanted to apologize is all."

"My Dad?" Dean's expression had changed from the intimidation to one of confusion.

"Bobby . . ." Eliot wasn't prepared for the sudden outburst of laughter that had the car swerving across the deserted road. Seriously that was about as unexpected as he could imagine and now he was the one confused.

Dean was laughing so hard, he ended up pulling the car to the side of the road to get his breath back while he regained his composure. It took a few minutes before he finally managed to get out the words, "Bobby isn't my dad, dude! What on earth made ya think he was?"

Eliot hadn't really got an answer for that, he'd just assumed, because Dean was there and young enough to be Bobby's son, although to someone who didn't know better, he figured they could use that reasoning for him being Bobby's son too. Maybe it was the argument this morning or the way Bobby pulled him close with a hand round the back of his neck. Yeah, there wasn't really a good reason beyond any of that for his assumption, but he really wasn't convinced that using any of those events and observations as an excuse now, was only going to lead to more laughter from Dean.

He was taken though, this Dean . . . this Dean was different, less insolent and arrogant, more someone he'd like to have as a friend. He looked again and realized that while he'd be happy with Dean as a friend, he'd also be interested in more, not that it was looking like anymore would ever be on offer. He shrugged off the thought and figured friends would be good, if he could get Dean not to hold a grudge about his suppositions.

Dean was calmer when he finally said, "Seriously dude, I don't know how you got there, but it's a good one. My Dad . . . yeah, he's a hunter, off on a solo job right now, didn't want me with him, so I figured hanging out at Bobby's was okay – maybe earn a few dollars for doing the odd job or at least get Bobby to teach me some more stuff. Believe me, the stuff he's taught me over the last few years – well, if nothing else, it helps keep the Impala running." Dean fell silent for a moment or two, long enough to turn the engine back on and rev it up before pulling back out on to the road. He spoke again a few moments later, "I wish my Dad was as easy to get on with as Bobby."

It was the first hint that Eliot had that there might be something wrong with Dean, something deeper lurking behind Dean's words. The moment passed though and Dean started laughing again. "I'll have to tell Bobby that one, he's gonna love it. So dude, how long you sticking around? Seriously it wouldn't do you any harm to get Bobby to teach you a few tricks for taking care of a car, man – or at least how to jack one that's gonna get you away with having everyone looking at ya as ya pass!"

He turned his head long enough to smile at Eliot and Eliot couldn't help but shrug and join in the laughter. A few minutes passed before he said, "What do you say to pulling off at a bar, grabbing a beer? Let me say thank you for your help."

"I know just the place," Dean smirked and now, Eliot noticed, the tension had eased. Dean looked more relaxed than he'd seemed since Eliot's first sight of him mid argument that morning.

They made better time heading back, Eliot tried not to look too closely at the speedometer on the Impala. Dean seemed to know the area well, and always seemed to slow down plenty before they caught sight of any patrol cars, so he took that as enough of a balm to keep his nerves quiet. The bar they stopped at wasn't that close to Bobby's, still a good hour away, but Dean seemed determined and Eliot figured it wasn't worth the fight to push for somewhere closer. If they were both too drunk to drive, he'd already seen a motel across the road and it was showing vacancies.

Eliot strode into the bar a pace or two ahead of Dean and scanned the place, taking in the other customers. It seemed an okay place, not too rough, not too 'family' to not be up to a good time. Looked like Dean had made a good choice, the guy obviously did know the area well. Dean tapped his shoulder indicating an empty booth over near the pool tables. Eliot took it in, looked like a good spot, clear view of the door, the bar, the tables and the exit to the restrooms, so with a curt nod he headed that way. They'd barely sat down when the waitress appeared, before Eliot could say a word, Dean was ordering shots and beers. When Eliot tried to object, saying he was okay with just beer, Dean's eyes flared angrily. Eliot took a calming breath, said to the waitress that the order was fine before turning back to Dean, who snapped at him, "'s alright dude, I'm not expecting you to pay! I can pay my own way!"

"Dean," Eliot started to apologize, the glare of the young man's eyes over the table was intense, almost mesmerizing. Eliot deliberately looked away across the bar to break the eye contact, before he turned back and said, "'s okay, I was just thinking of the Impala, dude. Didn't think you'd want to drive it if you'd had too many, ya know. But hey, it's okay, I can drive it back from here."

Dean's reaction was almost comical, the way he almost stumbled to his feet and headed for the door saying, "Never! You're never driving my baby!" Eliot made a brief gesture of surrender and Dean calmed again, settling himself back in his seat, just as the waitress returned with their drinks. Dean made a deliberate show of getting out his wallet and paying for the round, eyes challenging Eliot in between the flirty banter he was giving the girl.

Once the waitress had left, Dean shoved one beer and a shot glass in Eliot's direction before lifting his own shot and downing it swiftly. Eliot watched him for a moment, taking in his face in more detail. The bruising round Dean's eye was healing, looked like it was well on the mend rather than in the early stages, whereas the bruise on his jaw looked like it was still developing. Different fights or different accidents, although judging by his attitude, Eliot wouldn't be surprised by the first suggestion at all. He raised his own shot to Dean, before knocking it back, feeling the burn and relishing it for a moment.

Dean was already swigging from his beer, when Eliot looked again, took in the line of his neck, the slightly stubbled jawline and cheek, realizing it was a mask. The man opposite him was trying not to look young. His features were attractive, enough to warrant more attention than he'd necessarily want. Eliot leaned across the table and whispered harshly, "Dude, tell me you're old enough to be in here." God the last thing he needed was to have brought a kid into a bar and let him drink shots as well as beer, if the barkeep didn't find them out and beat their asses and they managed to avoid the cops on the way back then Bobby was gonna kill him and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Dean relaxed again, laughing and leant back saying in a tone that dripped with false sincerity, "Dude, I'm old enough to be in here and drinking whatever I like." Eliot shook his head and started to stand up ready to head for the door before any more trouble came his way. Seriously if the kid didn't come with him, he'd walk or maybe head for the motel over the road and then hitch back to Bobby's in the morning, grab his stuff and be on his way. He didn't need this.

Dean grabbed at his arm, pulling him back down into his seat, saying, "Quit worrying. I'm legal, twenty-two, twenty-three in a couple o' months. Stop actin' like your someone's momma, 'cause you sure ain't pretty enough to be mine and I ain't lookin' for another." There was something in his eyes that had Eliot doing what he was told and reaching for his own beer.

The kid was messing with his head that was for sure. Eliot picked up his beer and took another swig trying to settle his nerves. He was surprised when a minute or two later the waitress appeared with another round, but reached into his pocket to pay this time, knowing that from here on out, whatever happened he was just as much to blame as Dean.

He'd barely finished the second beer, when Dean was standing and heading for an empty pool table. Eliot followed, signalling to the waitress for two more beers first. She frowned and headed his way, turned out he'd yet again missed Dean's ordering of the next round. The girl was good enough to cancel the shots and stick with just beers and when Eliot gave her a sob story about Dean's girl dumping him and him trying to drown his sorrows, she gave him a sympathetic look and agreed that no matter what Dean tried to order, she'd check in with Eliot first. Feeling slightly smug, Eliot was smirking when he reached the pool table.

Dean clearly took the smirk as a challenge and promptly laid a twenty on the table as a bet. Eliot cocked an eyebrow before telling him to put it away. The kid was insistent though and so Eliot played along. It was a close game, not a complete whitewash thankfully and so Eliot felt like he'd earned the money at the end of the game, but as far as Dean was concerned that wasn't it and they were gonna play again, this time laying down thirty dollars. Eliot tried to refuse but was soon defeated and found himself playing and winning yet another game.

At the end of the second game, he signalled the waitress and turned to head back to the booth they'd been sitting in earlier, only to find Dean had hold of his arm, demanding a chance to win some of the money back. Eliot figured it was only fair, telling himself he could deliberately lose this round to even the score.

Four games later and Eliot realized he'd been well and truly hustled, as he stood back from the pool table watching the younger man wipe the table clean with a final flourish. Somehow the anger that should be there wasn't, somehow it just didn't matter. He watched Dean move gracefully round the table to line up the final shot. He took a moment to appreciate the view before looking back as the last ball dropped into its pocket and the white came to a gentle stop against the cushion. Dean stood up with an undisguised smirk on his face and Eliot just pulled a wry face in return, giving a shake of his head before laughing. As soon as the first of the laughs broke free, Dean picked up the cash they'd been playing for and split it, giving Eliot's original money back, so they were both back to square.

Eliot tilted his head in surprise, confused by the action, about to ask what exactly he thought he was doing, when Dean said, "Listen dude, you laughed, saw the funny side . . . we can be friends. I don't hustle my friends. If you'd taken it badly, I'd've kept the money. Consider yourself warned." He slapped the money into Eliot's hand and headed towards the bar where there were a couple of girls lingering waiting to get served. The bar was far busier than it had been earlier in the evening.

Eliot stood back and watched Dean start to flirt with the two girls, one a leggy blonde and the other almost as tall but with fiery red hair. He wondered for a moment what Dean was planning, when he noticed he was being waved over. He picked up his beer and wandered across to join the group, listening as Dean introduced the two girls before asking them what they wanted to drink. It didn't take long for the two girls to be cooing over how wonderful Dean was, not only for buying them drinks but for getting served so quickly because they'd apparently been trying for ages.  
Eliot watched as Dean chatted to the girls, his smile wide and charming, enticing even. He shook himself free of his thoughts, figuring it was better to not follow that line for no matter what his own inclination, Dean was quite clearly interested in the girls. He looked at the girls again, more appraising this time. On an average night, with no one more appealing around, Eliot probably wouldn't have hesitated but tonight either would merely be a make-do. He glanced again at Dean, realizing just how much he'd seen of the man he'd only known a few hours; angry, sad, relaxed and seemingly happy, confused, frustrated and focussed. The girls by comparison wore plastic red lipsticked smiles and almost vacant eyes. Even now there was a welter of emotion and thought in Dean's eyes, none of which was shown in his words and actions, not even hinted at in his facial expression. Eliot half wanted to just ditch the girls and get to know Dean as a friend, even if his libido suggested friend wasn't ever going to be enough.

He edged round the girls to the bar and ordered another round for them all. God, the evening was beginning to feel interminable. . .


	2. Chapter 2

_**The Story continues...**_

_Castiel's question of why Bobby was so pissed at the lateness had Dean frowning and trying to remember just what had happened that first night in the bar on the way back from Jackson._

I remember we got drunk, well kinda, I mean nothing too bad but there were these girls. I thought we were gonna get lucky. Yeah, typical, no such luck but hey, it all turned out for the best in the end, I guess. So the girls . . . well, we'd bought them a few drinks, had a few laughs, things were going well, then one of them went to the restroom and didn't come back for ages . . . Eventually her friend got worried and went to look for her. Yeah, not such a pretty sight, turned out she'd been throwing up, she could barely stand up, she'd obviously had more than anyone else realized and her friend just had to take her home. Eliot and I made sure they got in a cab safe and that was it. Then he turned all responsible on me and said that I couldn't drive, I'd had too much to drink. He'd seen a motel on the other side of the road and insisted we check in there till the morning.

It wasn't what you're thinking, nothing happened. Doubt the thought had even crossed his mind, certainly hadn't crossed mine. Anyway, we checked in, got some sleep and then headed for Bobby's in the morning. He was only an hour away, so it didn't take long to get there.

* * *

_Bobby cruised along behind the Impala, thankful for the peace in the truck, knowing full well that Dean would have something loud playing as they raced along the highway. For a moment he wondered what Dean's taste in music would have been like if John had let the boys have a more settled childhood, would he have been into the same type of music as other kids his age, rather than just mimicking his father. _

_How much of Dean's personality even now was tied up in what his family wanted and needed of him. The evidence of it being too much was clear in the fact that despite everything that had happened over the previous few weeks, Dean had still dropped everything, put his relationship with Eliot back on hold again, all because of a call from his brother. Hell the apocalypse was almost surely well on its way by now. Bobby had little optimism left that they'd be able to stop it before it was too late, no matter what Castiel tried to say to the contrary. But what grated even more than the thought the angel might be lying was the fact that Dean still wouldn't face his brother with the truth about Eliot. _

_It was stupid; it always had been stupidity to hide this truth. What he wondered did Dean imagine was going to happen when the truth came out. He thought back to when the boys had first become friends, how bizarrely good they were for each other and how often they'd driven him to the point of wanting to bash their heads together to see if it would knock any sense loose. _

_He remembered that first few days, sending them off to dump the junker that Eliot had turned up in, too unique a car for him to start salvaging parts and too much of a disaster to make it worth fixing. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that someone else had bought it for parts. Even more than sending them off, he remembered the concern when they hadn't returned by midnight, the panicked pacing at the thought they'd been in an accident or been picked up by the police, wondering how he was going to explain that one to John Winchester._

The Impala had finally rolled into the salvage yard around nine thirty in the morning and at the first hint of its distinctive rumble, Bobby had headed straight for the porch steps, worried about what he was going to find in the car. When the two young men climbed from the car, laughing but also clearly still suffering the after-effects of heavy drinking, his temper got the better of him. Winchester he could deal with, the boy was almost like a son and there was no way a son of his was going to behave so irresponsibly and get away with it. Spencer was a little more awkward. He had a fondness for the boy, but couldn't for an instant begin to suggest that he had anywhere near the knowledge of the kid that he had of Dean. So bearing that in mind, it was Dean he headed for first, not sparing any sympathy for any signs of hangover the kid might be showing as he clipped Dean round the ear and immediately began to bellow a tirade about drunken irresponsibility and letting people down. He'd barely got started, when Dean tried backing away, objections to the treatment falling swiftly from his lips, "Geez, Bobby. What the f-?"

Bobby just pursued him even swifter as he shouted, "Don't you swear at me now, boy! Not after the night I've just had . . . You don't think the business with your brother was enough. You want me to tell your father you've dropped off the face of the earth, or wrapped your car around a tree or been locked up by the police. Is that the plan? Eejit!"

Dean smirked. Boy should have known better than that after all these years. Mind you, Bobby knew his punishments didn't even begin to rival those his father would regularly mete out, yet still Dean would react in exactly the same way with his father. Bobby's frown deepened as Dean snarked, "'m not a kid, Bobby. Quit acting like I am one!"

"Sure seems like you're the one acting like a kid," Bobby growled in response. "You think it's fine to leave someone waitin', expectin' ya to get here. Ya think it's okay to let me pace the floor for a night worrying that ya're dead! Ya think it's okay to leave me not knowing." Bobby could see the moment when the reality hit Dean, the knowledge of what it would have been like to be Bobby the night before. Experience, the boy'd got a darn sight more experience on that front than Bobby would ever have, but the kid'd grown on Bobby over the years. There was no way he was giving up now on treating the boy like he mattered. John Winchester had deserted him often enough, put too much on his shoulders, and Bobby knew full well that it had left the kid with a completely screwed up view of the world and of his own value in it. As a fully functioning adult when he first met John Winchester, he could understand just how much John loved his kids, but he could also, with that infallible outsider's point of view, see just how badly the life they were leading was affecting the boys, Dean in particular.

Dean had been a mess for years and his brother's departure a couple of months ago had only made matters worse. Sam had stormed out without a final word to Dean, too wrapped up in the anger at John to even begin to take notice of the effect it was all having on his older brother, and he hadn't been in touch since and Dean hadn't been able to handle it. Dean had been falling apart from then on and after one particularly vicious argument with his father, Dean had finally got himself in the car and driven all the way to Sioux Falls, because he knew that Bobby would give him the time he needed, would support him all the way without letting John breathe down his back all the time. John'd been by twice since Dean had arrived, Bobby had spoken to him both times but not let him stay in the house. On the second visit, he'd insisted that Dean sit down and talk with his father, but had stayed with him and not let John pressure him into leaving.

Bobby knew that Dean had too often experienced what it felt like to be the one left waiting, the one believing someone was coming back and what it felt like when they didn't come back on time. He had never particularly wanted to use guilt on the boy, but right now, it was quicker and more effective than anything else. He could apologize later, he could explain later, when Dean would be ready to listen. Hell, it wasn't like he begrudged the boy a night in the bar, was actually pleased that they hadn't been stupid enough to drive drunk, but all it would have taken was a phone call. All they needed to do was call and let him know they weren't going to be back last night.

Dean's face showed every ounce of the guilt he felt. He'd fallen silent, head hanging for a moment, no further objection to Bobby's tirade. When he spoke again, it was to say, "I'm sorry," before he walked away deeper into the salvage yard and out of sight. He wouldn't be too hard to find later, Bobby would make sure of it.

Eliot was still standing there and Bobby could almost feel the objection to the tirade that was about to spew from his lips. He just held up his hand and said, "Shut it and listen! All you needed to do was let me know that you were staying out. A little consideration, that's all. You left here in a stolen car that was barely running to go and dump it in a lake. You arrived here on the run from god only knows who, don't even begin to suggest that I had nothing to worry about. All of that _you_ could have brought down on the pair of you! Then Dean . . . he's a hunter, Eliot. A young one, I admit, but he's been doing it for most of his life. Any number of things can be drawn to a hunter or can attract one's attention. It's easy to find ways to die if you look close enough, Eliot. A phone call was all I needed, a common courtesy."

Bobby couldn't say that he was surprised when Eliot didn't say anything beyond a genuine sounding sorry. His eyes flicked up in the direction Dean had gone earlier as if wondering whether he should follow, but Bobby just stopped him, assuring him that he was going to go and speak with Dean himself.

* * *

_Eliot settled the empty bottle on the top of the porch railing, before leaning back and lifting his legs up to rest against the wood to push himself back and forth._

He'd been relieved when the bad feeling had blown over, Dean had returned from a talk with Bobby quiet, but he seemed okay, going so far as to throw an apology Eliot's way as well. It took a couple of days before they all seemed to be truly relaxed around each other and the next time they found themselves in a bar together, it was at Bobby's suggestion.

Over the next few weeks, Bobby kept them both busy, sending them out on a few car retrieval jobs together. Dean, it appeared, knew plenty about cars. He was able to get some of them going long enough to make it into an auto shop or back to the salvage yard, and failing that he was also pretty good at hooking them up and towing them back with Bobby's tow truck. Eliot wasn't really sure what his role in all of this was, beyond companionship for Dean when the drive was long. Still there were times when it took the two of them to maneuver the cars into the right position for towing or Dean managed to get the car running again but the driver wasn't going to sit behind the wheel again for whatever reason. Eliot decided he wasn't going to complain, it was a good way to get to know Dean better and the kid was definitely growing on him. He'd checked with Bobby and Dean was definitely old enough to be in bars, which relieved one lingering worry. He was surprised when Dean told Bobby how he'd managed to hustle Eliot, but with Bobby's loud guffaws, the surprise just melted into embarrassment as Bobby told Dean it was time he taught Eliot a thing or two.

Eliot had been able to get a little of their shared history out of the two of them, with them both admitting that Dean and his younger brother had sometimes stayed over at Bobby's when their Dad was away hunting, that at some point in his life Dean's dad, John, had been a mechanic, but that in Bobby's opinion it was Dean who had the natural gift for it. Sometimes Eliot felt like the more he learnt, the more questions he had, the less he was sure of. There had been no mention of Dean's mother and he didn't like to ask, talk of both his brother and father were always in the past and nobody was talking about where they were now and Eliot wasn't sure how much he should push to find out the rest of the story.

* * *

_Dean insisted Castiel pull the car off the road at the next gas stop, in definite need of an opportunity to stretch his legs if nothing else. He wondered whether he could convince Castiel that he should ride with Bobby for a while. He'd never really experienced Castiel being quite so tenacious about prising information out of him before, and all he could think about was how different Castiel's approach was to Sam's and how effective._

_He took the opportunity to visit the rest room and to wander around the shelves for while pondering the merits of various snack foods and how really what he wanted was to be back at Bobby's with Eliot deciding what they were going to eat. Suddenly being away from Eliot was more than he wanted to deal with. He didn't want to be sat in a car heading for Sam with Eliot left behind again; he realized that this really wasn't what he wanted from his life anymore._

_He strode to the store door and headed outside and round the back of the building away from prying eyes and ears. He didn't even notice that Bobby was now standing alongside Castiel or that the two of them were watching him. He pulled out his phone as he walked and was already calling up Eliot's number before he found a secluded spot and leant back against the wall before pressing dial. The phone was answered pretty quickly and Dean hadn't fully got his head around this sudden need to speak to Eliot, so he didn't really know what he was planning to say. "El . . . God, El, I'm sorry," the words stumbled out awkwardly and he knew he needed to clarify. "El . . . I don't wanna do this anymore, I don't want you to be a secret, man. Can – can you hang on at Bobby's a few days . . . Please El. I'm gonna get Sammy to come back with me, I'm gonna tell him, I'm gonna tell him about us, man. Can you stay? Can you be there when I get back? Please." If it wasn't suddenly so important that Eliot understood and agreed to his request, Dean knew he'd feel embarrassed by the sudden needy desperation in his words._

_Eliot'd heard the desperation and Dean could have kicked himself for all he'd managed to do was worry Eliot. "You okay, dude? Talk to me, man. You're worrying me now."_

_"No, 's not like that, El. 'S just . . . 's just I'm sick of this, of only seeing you when Sam's not around, of not being able to be 'us' when he's there, of not being able to call you and speak to you. I want to be able to do that. I want . . ."_

_"Dean," Eliot's firm tone silenced the words that were falling from his lips. "Listen up. I'll stay here as long as I can, I'll let you know if I have to go – I'm assuming you've already asked Bobby if I can stay on longer?" There was a smirk in his voice that told Dean he knew perfectly well Dean wouldn't have thought of any such thing. "Dean, I'll stay, don't worry, but just . . . be sure this is what you want to do. Things don't have to change, we can still have this, what we have now - you don't have to tell Sam."_

_"I do. I want more. If Sam . . . if Sam can't . . . can't handle it, then that's – that's his problem." Dean wished Eliot could be with him right then, that there wasn't the distance between them, but had to resign himself as he'd done so often before to the reassuring lilt of Eliot's voice being enough to steel his resolve. _

_"Dude!" There was a world of unspoken words in the exclamation; all the things they never said aloud, all the things they wanted the other to know but couldn't bring themselves to say. It was enough, Dean knew he'd done the right thing. He breathed a sigh of relief and felt a warmth grow through him as Eliot said softly, "Take care . . . come back soon."_

_It took him another couple of minutes after hanging up from speaking to Eliot before he was ready to head back to join Bobby and Castiel. He saw their perplexed expressions and shrugged unwilling to let go of the good feeling inside. When he was closer, he spoke quietly to Bobby, "'ve just spoken to Eliot. It okay for him to stay a bit longer at yours? He's gonna try to stay 'til we – we get back. 'S okay, right?"_

_Bobby's mouth dropped open in shock for a moment before he nodded and finally regained his composure enough to reply. The tension dropped from Dean's shoulders and he quickly turned back to the task at hand, urging both Bobby and Castiel back into the cars, so they could get back on the road immediately._

_Back in the car, talking about Eliot didn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, there was no reason not to answer Castiel's questions. He started by returning to the beginning of the story and explaining that when they first met, he had thought his Dad was off on a job without him and that Sam had not long left for Stanford. He remembered how angry and alone he had been feeling when Sam left and how the arguments between himself and John had escalated to it being almost their only form of communication. In the end he admitted that after a vicious argument in which he had demanded to be allowed to accompany his father, even if it meant being left in a motel room there doing research, that his Dad had let rip with a stream of invective that would have had army drill sergeants blushing and boiled down to Dean was only good enough to follow orders and if he couldn't even do that properly then he may as well clear out now._

Dean left the motel room, stunned and speechless. He had no idea what to do, where to go, what ought to happen now. He was shaking, hands trembling, breath short and panicky. He opened the Impala door and sat down, leaning forward to drop his head closer to his knees and try to take deep breaths and calm himself down. It was nearing dark when he finally pulled himself together enough to even think about making a decision. He stood up and closed the door, walking down the block to a phone booth he'd seen near the diner. Shoving a few loose coins into the slot, he dialled the number he'd memorized as a kid and listened as the phone rang and rang but no one picked up. He held himself steady, determined not to fall apart now, not to read anything into the fact that Pastor Jim hadn't picked up. A few more deep breaths and he was dialling Bobby's number relieved when the older man picked up with his usual gruff greeting.

It hadn't taken long for Bobby to invite him to stay and he'd gratefully accepted, heading instantly back towards the motel parking lot. Reaching the car he paused, all of his stuff was inside the motel room. He could feel his resolve waver at the thought of yet another brewing argument. Eventually he decided he couldn't just head out, he had to go in and fetch his duffel bag. He drew himself up, bracing himself for the impending outburst, crossed the lot and let himself quietly into the room.

He couldn't fail to see a certain irony in the time it had taken him to steel himself and the emptiness of the room. The sound of the shower running was enough to remind him he didn't have long and so he strode deliberately across to his bag, looking round for the few things he hadn't already had packed. There was no sign of the shower stopping when he hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and heading for the door with barely a backward glance. He'd stop on the way to pick up a replacement toothbrush and paste and some shaving foam. Everything else he had with him. There was a brief hurt flash in which he wondered how long it would take his father to notice he'd gone.

He'd been at Bobby's for four days before the first phone call came through from John. It wasn't pretty and in the end Bobby had reached over and cut the call off, saying gruffly, "No one needs to listen to that crap."

It had been almost another two weeks before John had appeared raging at the door about responsibilities. Dean had been embarrassed but relieved when Bobby had taken action again, this time dragging John into the kitchen to talk and sending Dean out to finish working on a car they'd started on the previous afternoon. Half an hour later, Bobby had called Dean in and the three of them sat down around the table to 'talk'. It had been unlike anything Dean had really experienced before. Every time his father tried to bulldoze his way through the conversation, bombarding Dean with demands, Bobby would interrupt and say something to the effect of John perhaps wanting to rethink what he'd said. When his father finally got round to the point of instructing Dean to take a solo job, Bobby had put his foot down and said that it was one thing for John to 'ask' Dean to accompany him but right now, he didn't think it was a good time for Dean to be hitting the road alone. John had made a final demand of Dean and shakily his son had refused.

Dean had watched horrified as his father stormed from the house, hoisted himself into the cab of his truck and with a roar of the engine had left. The solid grounding that came with the arrival of Bobby's hand on his shoulder was quite possibly the only thing that kept him from flying apart.

He knew that over the next few days he'd been dissolving, a welter of emotions threatening to swamp him, drive him under permanently. He knew he had a lot to be thankful to Bobby for and probably three times as much to apologize for, but Bobby hadn't wavered. He'd stood by throughout the ranting, through the depressive moments and refused to allow either to last beyond the initial expulsion of emotion, insisting that Dean got on and forged his own way. It hadn't stopped Dean feeling incredibly vulnerable and he knew that without the consistency and stability that Bobby was providing, he'd have given in and either run to his father begging forgiveness or tried to get his brother to take him in.

Then Eliot had turned up.

Everything had changed, Dean had, by virtue initially of embarrassment alone, begun to pull himself together, not willing to show how he was feeling in front of a stranger, bad enough that Bobby had had almost a month of it by then.

They'd settled into a routine, working together, Eliot accompanying Dean to fetch cars for Bobby. He was a good enough driver but all the technicalities of trying to restart cars, he would leave to Dean. When that didn't work, the two of them would hoist cars onto Bobby's tow truck and drive it back to the salvage yard.

They spent the odd evening in a downtown bar, their friendship growing as they learnt more about each other and discovered a shared love of music, Bruce Lee films and hockey that Dean admitted he'd never shared with anyone before as his brother and father despised any sport other than baseball. It was a new experience that Dean was currently relishing, a friendship on equal terms, not a soldier to do the bidding of a sergeant major or a parent struggling to raise a recalcitrant teenager. It was a friendship that asked nothing he didn't actually want to give and asked of him if he was willing to give at that, nothing ever just assumed like his opinion didn't count.

Dean swore that he could never have put a finger on when exactly things began to change between them, never really say how or why his feelings changed, morphed into something more. They were at the bar one night, worse for wear and getting steadily drunker when a brawl broke out. He could honestly say he'd got no idea why all of a sudden a bunch of guys turned on the two of them. If he remembered rightly they'd not been playing pool, not tried hustling anyone, but then all of sudden some guy took a swing right at him and well, there was no way he was going to stand there and take it. Before long the brawl was in full swing and the cops were wading in and arresting people left, right and center.

Thrown into the drunk tank alone after initial processing, Dean had felt a wave of horror as he saw the looks on the other guys' faces in there, older, darker and he felt like nothing more than fresh meat before a pack of lions. He backed himself up into a corner as one or two of them began to pay more attention to him and tried to make himself invisible, dreading Bobby finding out where he was at the same time as he was hoping the older man would find out soon and would come fish him out. Some huge brick shithouse of a man suddenly loomed over him and Dean tried to keep a glare on his face that said he wasn't afraid but the guy just leered in his direction and Dean pressed in tighter to the corner.

The door to the cell opened seconds later and the big guy backed off a little with a warning glare. Dean didn't make a sound, hoped that maybe they were gonna get him out of there, or maybe at least take away the big guy. As far as he was concerned right then, either option worked for him. So it was a surprise when Eliot strode into the cell like he owned the place, glaring at the huge monster man before glancing round, seeming to assess the room. Dean was relieved when Eliot's eyes settled on him and showed concern rather than disregard. Eliot hardened his gaze and stared at the other men in the cell before striding across to Dean's side. He stood alongside for a moment or two before giving a tilt of his head towards one of the benches in the cell, currently occupied by several other men. Dean knew when he was outnumbered, knew perfectly well that while he knew how to take out a poltergeist or a lingering spirit, there was a limit to how many humans he could take on.

Eliot didn't seem to share his concern, just striding across to the bench he'd indicated before and stood over two guys. When Dean stood alongside and tried mirroring Eliot's intimidating posture, the two guys hurriedly moved from their perch, allowing Dean and Eliot to take their places. Eliot nudged Dean into the corner and then sat alongside. Even Dean could work out the unspoken message and was embarrassingly thankful for the implied protection.

By the time they were released in the morning, Bobby was stood glaring at them both at the door to the jailhouse. Dean looked chastened, Eliot worried. Neither spoke a word as they headed for the truck and Bobby didn't break the silence as he drove home. He wasn't going to rein his anger in for long though once they were back, immediately demanding an explanation

Dean knew that something in his head had changed that night and the days that followed, something that right then he couldn't have identified or explained. There was the whole 'being protected' thing which even thinking back on it alone, made his cheeks flare with embarrassment. Fuck! No wonder his Dad was disappointed in him, he was supposed to be an adult, supposed to be able to stand on his own two feet, yet he'd been ridiculously grateful for the presence of Eliot at his side, the implied barely contained violence that had the men who'd been goading him back off without a word.

He found himself avoiding talking with Eliot, worried about what he might let slip, what the other man might think of him. He had no choice but to work with him, eat with him, but he just wanted to get his own head straightened out before he made matters worse. Eliot didn't seem to change though, apparently wasn't unnerved in the least by Dean's cowardice in the jail cell. Dean didn't understand why he didn't say anything about it at all, not even teasing him. He just carried on as they had been for the last few weeks, just talking over the silences when Dean had nothing to say.


	3. Chapter 3

_The phone call from Dean had been a shock, something that Eliot had never expected, never dared to hope for. It was a huge move for Dean to even be considering it and Eliot wasn't going to hold him to it or criticize if he didn't follow through. Hell, he felt a surge of warmth and, for want of another word, love race through him. He could never complain, family was important; Eliot had thought the team was like family but he'd never once mentioned Dean to any of them. It meant too much to risk someone else's judgement, someone else's criticism because only he knew what it really meant, just how much it meant._

Eliot remembered the times Dean's father had phoned, the wreck Dean had been after the calls, how protective Bobby had been and without ever meeting the man he'd grown to resent John Winchester. He'd seen a different Dean the night they got arrested in a bar brawl. He'd been attracted to Dean since they first met, at least physically, but had come to the conclusion that Dean was very definitely straight and so had been content with friendship and as time had gone on, he'd realized that he wanted more than a one night stand with Dean, so friendship was by far the better option in its potential to last. 

They were getting ready to go out and Dean had spent an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom getting ready, to Eliot's mind. He was clearly hoping to pull some chick and get laid. Bobby had teased him relentlessly when he'd come downstairs finally, but Eliot was just reminded how good-looking he was. Dean smirked as he said, "Can't rush perfection!", his grin broad enough to show that he didn't believe it himself for an instant. He added a few moments later, "Was trying to get rid of the lingering smell of engine oil actually."

With the promise that they were just heading into town, Bobby had told them he'd see them tomorrow as if they did come back, he'd likely already be asleep. Dean headed out to the Impala with Eliot close behind and it wasn't long before they were enjoying a few beers and some pool. Eliot was surprised. Before when they'd been out Dean had been flirting with girls whenever he got the chance, from the waitress to any girls hanging out in the bar, even if they appeared to be spoken for. It was different though. Dean's attention didn't waver from Eliot, he only spared the waitress a glance long enough to be polite as he placed their order.

Eliot reminded himself it didn't mean anything, Dean was just . . . Dean wasn't gay so there was no reason for him to start reading anything into the evening's behavior. Besides that Dean didn't know that Eliot was and so it couldn't mean anything more. But as the evening wore on, Dean got drunker and along with drunker he became more tactile. Eliot reminded himself it didn't mean anything, Dean was just drunk. At the end of the current game, he set down his cue and indicated that he was heading for the restroom, suggesting before he left that Dean go and find them somewhere to sit, because they'd played enough pool.

He caught a few odd looks from some of the bar's rougher clientele, but just glared back and went on his way. When he returned Dean was settled at a table with another round of drinks in front of him and a grin on his face that lit up his eyes. "What've ya done?" Eliot asked as he sat down.

Dean just shrugged and leant in closer to Eliot's ear to say, "Ain't no pretty girls in this bar! Whassa guy ta do?"

Eliot sat back with a laugh. A laugh that cut short as he noticed the sudden interest he and Dean were being paid by a couple of burly trucker types. Before he had time to warn Dean, one of the truckers had grabbed him by the arm, pulling him away from the table, with a sneer of "Don't want your type round here, pretty boy!"

Fair play to Dean, he was swinging at the guy before he'd even reached his feet and even more impressively he'd managed to land a pretty solid punch to the guy's jaw. Eliot was on his feet and heading for the guy when he was sidetracked by one of his companions. From there things just dissolved into a full out brawl and the next time Eliot had more than a moment's space to check on Dean, the cops were wading in en masse and he and Dean along with the truckers were in cuffs and being led out to the waiting vehicles.

After an initial scuffle when they tried to put Dean in the same van as one of the truckers and the guy lurched forward trying to land a head butt, the cops dragged Dean back out of the car as the more pliant of the two and put him in the same van as Eliot. With the doors closed and no one else paying them much attention, Eliot murmured quietly, "You okay?" Dean nodded but it didn't take a genius to work out the younger man was worried.

At the station, they were separated again, Dean being processed first and then lead away. When yet another scuffle broke out this time between some of the others arrested and not involving Eliot, he found himself pushed backward down the line as they processed the guys causing the trouble first and led them away. Eliot prayed silently that they weren't being put in the same cell as Dean, that the cops had picked up on the fact that he was in fact the victim.

It was almost a half hour before he was processed and led back to a crowded cell. He scanned the bodies, hoping that Dean would be there, but more importantly checking out the threat. It only took an instant to find the threats and to glare at them sufficiently to make them think twice before approaching him. He'd also caught sight of Dean in the corner; the kid was trying to hide the fact he was terrified, completely out of his depth. He strode across the room and waited for Dean to stand a little straighter pull himself together ready to face the masses. Eliot gave a quick nod in the direction of a bench in the opposite corner of the cell and saw Dean's look of surprise but also his acquiescence that he would follow Eliot's lead.

It only took a narrowing of his eyes and a menacing posture to back up the word, "Move!" to have the two guys in the corner shifting anxiously away from the bench. He nudged Dean into the corner then dropped down beside him. It was going to be a long night.

He replayed the evening over and over as they sat there waiting, not letting his thoughts show on his face which remained set in a forbidding glare. He was close enough to be able to feel Dean's nervousness and wondered how the guy he'd known for the last few weeks could be so almost timid, how the hell could the guy be a hunter. It didn't make sense, but it didn't stop him 'caring' that Dean got out in one piece. There would be time to pick it all apart later. Dissect it piece by piece until he could make it make sense. Mind you the thought also crossed his mind that all the other pieces he'd accumulated over the last few weeks didn't seem to just fit together in any logical way, so why should this.

It was a relief to be released without charges in the morning. Eliot had sobered up long ago as had Dean who hadn't spoken since they'd been put in the cell. Bobby was waiting for them, the man looked grim-faced but Eliot could see the relief when they appeared with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises. His gaze was appraising, Eliot watched as he seemed to be reading more into Dean's demeanor than just the checking for injury, but he didn't say any more than to direct them both to his truck. He drove them back to the bar to collect the Impala but wouldn't let Dean out of his car, instead insisting Dean hand over his keys to Eliot and stay in the car with him. There was only a token resistance to Eliot's surprise.

Arriving back at the house after Bobby, Dean had already gone to have a shower when Eliot walked in to find Bobby waiting for him. "Sit down and tell me what happened. I've heard from him, now you tell me."

"We were in the bar. We had a few beers, played a few games of pool before grabbing a table and just sitting down to chat. Some hulking dimwit suddenly walked up, grabbed him from behind and dragged him out of his seat and went to hit him. Dean managed to land a punch square to his jaw before all hell let loose and we were both in the middle of the brawl as the fucker's mates joined in."

Bobby nodded as if it matched sufficiently what Dean had said, which Eliot figured it should given it was the truth. "Why? He bin hustlin'?"

"No! Seriously we hung out all evening, nothing like that, no hustling!" Eliot defended.

"'k, he said he hadn't. Figured he knew better than to try it so close to home or to hang around afterwards. So he hit on someone's girl?"

"He didn't hit on anybody's girl. He didn't hit on anyone!" The traitorous thought went through his head that it had almost been like Dean had been hitting on him, but he kept it locked down inside because he knew it wasn't really true.

"K, so given all of that, you'd better give me a damn good reason why some dumbfuck out of nowhere grabs him and starts a brawl because you both seem pretty certain the guy went for Dean first and he can't or won't tell me why?" Bobby growled.

"Dunno, neither of us had done anything to anyone," Eliot shrugged. "Seriously, man, we hung out, played some pool just the two of us, had a few beers. We finished playing pool and Dean went to sit down while I went to the head. I got a few glares on my way but nobody said or did anything beyond that. Then we were just sitting there when the fat guy comes over and pulls Dean out of his seat and starts to wail on him."

"He didn't say nuthin'?" Bobby grimaced like the whole conversation was giving him a headache, which Eliot figured it probably was.

"Um . . . yeah, actually as he pulled Dean up he said something like . . .'Don't want your type here, pretty boy' or somethin' like that."

"So . . . he thought Dean was a hooker or he thought he was gay?"

"Fuck if I know which or why?" Eliot defended, thinking again of Dean's hand on his arm, his shoulder and tried to keep that knowledge out of his eyes.

Bobby shook his head, "Right, the two of you steer clear of that bar in future, that clear? I don't want to be picking you up from the cops again. I don't need that trouble in my life. The two of you were lucky. Enough witnesses said you two didn't start it so the police let you go, but believe me you drew plenty of attention, unwanted attention. They might have started it, but they're walking away with a heap more injuries – between ya, you've hospitalized two guys and three needed stitches but were released into police custody after. You two, ya barely even register on the walking wounded scale. You come to the cops' attention again and you're going to find a whole heap more attention being paid to ya, that neither of ya need."

Eliot nodded, relieved when Bobby sent him off to take a shower and get cleaned up. 

* * *

Bobby took him on one side again a couple of days later when Dean was out running an errand. "You and he not talkin' for a reason?"

Eliot shrugged, after all he had no idea what was going through Dean's mind and he felt like he'd been talking enough for the two of them. "'m talkin'. I ain't got a problem."

"Yeah, thought so. 'k, word to the wise, talk about that night with him, set his mind at rest that you ain't holding a grudge. I spoke to him about what you said the guy in the bar said, about him being a pretty boy. Guess in the shock of being grabbed he hadn't made out the words, didn't know what the guy's problem was. I'm gonna tell ya summat, the kid's used to being the one in the wrong, the one to take the blame even if stuff weren't his fault. He's also used to being shut out. No! I ain't saying you're doing that, 'cause you ain't. You're talkin' I seen ya, but he probably don't know how to handle it all. He'll be needing a friend. Ain't the first time someone's called him pretty and normally he's the one who comes out punching. Far as I know it's the first time anyone has tried hitting him for it first. There's summat else playing on his mind and he won't tell me, maybe you'll have better luck. Any road, I got work to be doin'."

Eliot paused for a moment before he said, "Bobby?" When the older man turned to look at him, he asked quietly, "He ever get taken in before . . . by the cops?"

"Yeah . . . think so . . . mind you he was younger. If I remember right he were only a young teen. Guess they'da kept him separate from everyone else." Eliot nodded, not pursuing the matter any further. He didn't want to tell Bobby what he'd seen when he walked into the cell.

Eliot made a point of finding Dean out in the salvage yard later that afternoon when he was working and Bobby was out getting parts. He made his way across to the car Dean was working on and as Dean tilted his head far enough to the side to look up at him with a question in his eyes as to what he was doing there, Eliot leant back alongside him and began to talk. "You've been kinda quiet, figured maybe we should talk about what happened."

"Sorry . . . happens sometimes . . ." Dean fell silent again.

"Happens sometimes? People call ya pretty and then try to beat the shit out of ya a lot then?"

Dean leant back over the engine of the car but Eliot just managed to catch the answer, "Not normally at the same time, unless . . ."

"Unless what?"

Dean shrugged and muttered something about hitting on other people's girls to which Eliot gave a small laugh and added that'd do it. He was surprised when a shiver seemed to pass through Dean and he reached out a hand to his shoulder. He wasn't sure whether it was just that the touch was unexpected or whether there was something more to it, but Dean jerked away violently, his head coming up and colliding with the raised hood painfully. "Shit!"

He turned away from Eliot as he brought a hand up to his head, another expletive passing his lips as his hand covered the spot he'd bumped. When Dean brought his hand away again, Eliot saw the trace of blood smeared across the palm and promptly snatched at his shoulder to turn him round so he could check the wound properly. He ignored Dean's attempt to pull away, with a growled, "Grow up and let me look at it! What d'ya think I'm gonna do to ya?"

There was a fair-sized gash across his forehead that had Eliot wincing in sympathy at the same time as he was relieved that the collision hadn't been an inch lower where Dean would have lost an eye. "We're going in and getting that clean, you've already managed to get oil in it," Eliot said calmly, ignoring Dean's attempt to play it down and deny the need to go in. A trickle of blood dripping down and into his eye put paid to the denial as he tried to wipe it away and Eliot snatched at his filthy oil covered hand and glared at him. Dean let his hand drop back to his side and turned back to the house.

Eliot shifted a chair from the kitchen table and put it where he would have good light from the window, then turned to get the first aid kit. His hands were gentle as he cleaned up the cut and placed a few butterfly stitches over it to hold it closed. He turned to reach for a dressing to cover it and heard Dean murmur an apology. He looked back questioningly. "I'm sorry for . . . everything that happened. I – I . . ."

Eliot turned back without the dressing, letting both hands drop to Dean's knees, "You don't have to be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong, you and I both know that." He saw as Dean swallowed anxiously and so he continued to talk. "The guy was a fuckin' moron." He wasn't surprised that Dean wouldn't meet his eyes, so he continued, "and as for the guys in that cell . . ." He felt the shudder that passed through the man before him. "Dean, it's okay to be . . . worried when you're outnumbered, situation like that . . ."

"You weren't afraid," Dean said quietly.

"You'd got my back, I wasn't in there on my own." Dean snorted in disbelief at his answer, so Eliot continued to talk. "Dean, you're a hunter, you know a ton of stuff that I don't . . . You fight well but . . . you could improve and I could teach you, teach you how to carry yourself try and put people off going for ya. It happened to me when I was younger, 'til I learnt how to make 'em know I didn't stand any messing." He was relieved when Dean nodded, figured it was enough for now, enough that he was better to not ask anything about the early part of the evening. He finished covering Dean's injury, then put his hands back on Dean's knees to stand up with a grin, hoping to ease the tension that he could still see in the younger man's eyes.

When Dean stood up, Eliot caught his arm, keeping him balanced as a sudden wave of dizziness hit. Eliot pushed him back into the seat, insisting that he stay there. At Dean's protest about the unfinished job outside and that even worse he'd left the tools out, Eliot offered one simple non-negotiable solution: Dean would stay put and he would go and pack up for him. To Eliot's relief, Dean conceded defeat.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dean remembered his father turning up about a week and a half after the bar incident. He'd glossed over a lot of the interim in his retelling but Castiel still seemed to sense that there was more that he wasn't saying. He didn't really want to talk about the confusion of feelings, the struggle to deal with even the existing friendship as he began to think there may be more there on his part and the knowledge, or so he thought at the time, that if he did feel more, that feeling wouldn't be returned by Eliot, couldn't be returned._

As such it was a surprise when Castiel suddenly said, "I think you should try and sleep now, then when you wake, you could drive for a while." He agreed willingly, grateful for the reprieve and actually surprised to find himself feeling quite tired. He shifted his body, until he could settle more comfortably, letting the hum of the car lull him into a doze, freeing his mind to wander over the memories of that time.

Dean had followed Eliot's instructions after managing to gash his head on the hood of a car. It was easier to do as he was told, easier not to have to think, not to have try and work things out. It was what his father wanted from him . . . obedience. It was the one thing he could do well or it had been until Sam left and then, well then everything had fallen apart. He hadn't been the good little soldier any more, he'd rebelled or run away more honestly, but it was clear he didn't do so well on his own. Everything was falling apart, he was falling apart.

In the end, Dean had gone to bed early that night, his mind full. He hoped sleep would help. Sleep hadn't come though, instead he had lay there thoughts whirling and churning relentlessly. He wasn't sure, that was the thing, he wasn't sure what he was feeling. He'd seen guys before that had caught his eye, thought they were . . . attractive, maybe. He'd never gone beyond that though, never considered it a possibility, never considered that he even wanted it to be a possibility. Yet now . . . now there was Eliot.

He rolled over again, restlessly, trying to not think, not twist himself in any more knots about the situation. He was in danger of losing everything if he didn't get a grip on his feelings. Dad would have something to say about this . . . this wasn't what a hunter should be like, it wasn't what his son should be like. He was supposed to be strong and independent and do as he was told and look after Sammy and . . . he rolled over again and shivered.

Fuck! What would Eliot think if he knew? It was too much to deal with. Dean knew he was a liability, an accident waiting to happen and it was too late to try and fix it. He gave up on trying to sleep, ignoring the exhaustion still dragging at his body and pushed himself up. He grabbed his duffel and stuffed clothes in it randomly, snatched up the notebook that was in the pocket of his bag and began to scrawl a note to Bobby telling him he'd left to head out on the job his Dad had wanted him to do the research for a few days previously and he'd call when he got to the town to let him know what was going on.

He knew Bobby wouldn't be happy, knew he wouldn't approve of Dean tackling a hunt alone in this state of mind, but Dean figured he no longer had any other options left to him. He hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, grabbed his car keys and the note and headed through to the kitchen to drop it on the table there.

He let himself out quietly, retreating through the door backwards, so that he could close it silently behind him. That was his only excuse for not realizing there was anyone on the porch behind him and so the words, "Goin' somewhere?" from behind him were totally unexpected.

"Fuck me!" he exclaimed. "Are you trying to give me . . ."

His words were cut off by the half slurred words, "Would do, but don' think that's what ya really wan' now, is it?"

He turned to stare at Eliot in surprise. He was slumped in the corner of the swing seat, a bunch of empty beer bottles on the floor beside him and another in his hand as he took another swig. "Well . . . where're ya goin' then, tha's so importan' you gotta go in the middl' o' the nigh'?"

"You're fuckin' drunk!" Dean stated bluntly.

"Ya noticed. I . . . 'm sick o' doin' the right thing and no' pushin' and now ya're runnin' away anyway. I fucked up." Dean stared in shock at Eliot, sure he wasn't really understanding what Eliot was saying. "Ya're no' gay. I thought it wouldn' matter, thought I could jus' be ya friend and then . . . then ya go' all touchy-feely and I thought maybe . . . maybe ya knew, maybe ya'd be interested but why would ya? Why would ya wan' anythin' with someone like me? Who would?"

Eliot seemed to draw in on himself even more, hunching smaller in the corner of the swing seat as he took another swig of beer. Dean dropped his bag and took a step closer, unsure of himself despite the vague swirl of hope inspired by Eliot's words.

"Wan' ya but wan' it ta be real. Thought ya knew and then . . . then ya stopped, ya stopped even talkin' to me and this af'ernoon . . ." He fell silent and drew a deep breath, looking away from Dean into the distance.

Dean drew closer, finally dropping quietly on to the other end of the seat and prompting, "This afternoon what?"

Eliot looked up blearily. "'s af'ernoon? Ya don' know? Ya don't know," he finished resignedly. Another sigh before he said, "Ya flinched, Dean. Ev'ry time I got close to ya, ya flinched. Ya hate me."

Dean let one hand drift out to rest on Eliot's knee, "I . . . 'm sorry."

Eliot knocked his hand away roughly, "Don' do that! Don' – Don' play with me, Dean. I don' wan' that, I don'! I wan' som'thin' real."

Dean was uncertain, his own insecurities racing but he knew he had to do something, make some indication that he wanted Eliot's 'something real' as well. He didn't need to run away. He swallowed nervously hoping that he could get the words out in a way that Eliot would believe. "I – I . . . I didn't know that was how you felt . . . I thought it was just me," his voice was tentative. "Th-There's never been anyone else like you. I've never . . . Eliot, I've never thought about being with a guy before, not – not like I've been thinking about you. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how to do this but . . ."

Eliot straightened up a little, head tilted on one side as he stared at Dean. A frown crossed his face as if he were trying to ponder the truth in Dean's words. "Truth?"

Dean reached out and took Eliot's hand, pulling it closer and lacing their fingers together, without meeting Eliot's eyes. "I want this, El. I want to try this with you but . . . I don't know what I'm doing. . ."

"Huh! Can tell tha'," Eliot said bluntly. His fingers tightened their grip on Dean's hand and pulled him closer. "Holding hands! 'm not a girl, dude! Guess that makes you the girl then!" He gave a sharp tug on Dean's hand, causing him to lose his balance and begin to tumble towards Eliot. But Eliot's other hand was there, ready to catch him, guide him and pull him in closer for a kiss. Once he had slowed Dean's movement, his hand moved to cup the back of the younger man's neck, guiding his head in until their lips met.

Dean felt as Eliot guided him back after a moment or two, seeming to be able to easily ignore Dean's urge to prolong the kiss. Dean could still feel the tension in his own posture, across his shoulders and down his back but despite the attempt to surge forward and kiss Eliot again, the other man held him back clearly needing something that Dean wasn't clear on first. His words may have slurred with the beer in his system, but Eliot definitely wasn't so far gone that he was willing to rush anything or be diverted from his intention to talk. "Speak now . . . you wanna stop?"

"No, but . . ." Dean fell silent, looking away. Eliot's hand was still on his neck, thumb stroking back and forth gently. He relaxed a fraction and leant back towards Eliot for a second kiss.

This time Eliot accepted the kiss but again broke it early, clearly recognizing that Dean still hadn't admitted what was on his mind. "You gotta talk to me . . . tell me or – or we can't make this work."

"I don't know how this works. I don't know if . . . what . . . I mean . . . if I . . ." He fell silent but Eliot just kept up the gentle soothing movement of his thumb until Dean finally said, "I dunno if I'm – you know – ready to be the girl. . ."

Eliot didn't laugh, for which Dean would always be grateful. Instead he just leant in to initiate a third kiss, murmuring softly as they broke away again, "That's the whole point, dude . . . neither of us are the girl. 's certainly what I like about you. Now stand up." Dean nodded hesitantly. Eliot shifted position, pulling his legs up to his chest and trying to dig his feet underneath where Dean was sitting. He laughed at Dean's look of hurt before saying, "Just stand up, dude!" Dean stood and Eliot stretched out along the seat, shifting his body to the back and patting the gap in front of him before saying, "Come here, wuss!" Dean hesitantly lowered himself into the space, finding himself pushed and shifted into position until Eliot seemed happy. He found himself held in position securely with Eliot in a position that they could just make out gently to the rock of the swing seat. "You're safe here with me," Eliot whispered, "Won't ever make ya do somethin' ya don't want to. I promise." There was a lull for a while as they lay together trading the odd lazy kiss and just watching each other.

Eliot finally broke the silence, "I wanna try and make this work . . . I know it's goin' to be difficult to be together with you huntin' and me workin', but I wan' us to try an' work it out." 

* * *

_Dean woke up as Castiel pulled the Impala off the road and onto a shingle road. "Where are we?" he asked blearily, not yet fully awake._

"Not far from where Sam said to meet him," Castiel said. "How are you feeling? Your wounds?"

"'s all fine, just you know a little stiff. 's not a problem though, just a little out of practise, I'll soon loosen up," Dean assured him.

Castiel turned his attention back to the road ahead, chewing on his lip as if pondering whether to say something further. He didn't speak until Dean had told him to spit it out and then he asked, "Are you sure you want to tell Sam about you and Eliot now?"

Dean smiled wryly, "No I'm absolutely certain that I don't but . . . First of all, it's been like six years since we got together, it's time Sam knew. Secondly, I want more and while Sam doesn't know I can't have more. Hell the demons are trying to help Lucifer rise, there might not be an ever after. It might be now or never. I owe it to myself and Eliot." Dean was certain, content that this was the right thing to do. He didn't spare a thought for optimism about the actual telling Sam part, just settled into the certainty that it was the right thing for him and Eliot and that was the most important thing.

He looked across and saw a gleam of satisfaction in Castiel's eyes as if he too was pleased with the way things were progressing. "What's that look for?" Dean asked.

"He makes you happier, that is a good thing, so this is the right direction for you to take things now. You know that Bobby and I will support you both whatever Sam has to say about it, don't you? I think you may have worried unnecessarily about his reaction all this time, so I am pleased that you have decided to make this step forward."

Dean couldn't help but laugh at Castiel's serious answer as if he was experienced in matters of human relationships. "Dude, I hope you're right, but I guess we'll just have to hope this job is over soon so then we can get on with finding out what's going to happen next."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading, constructive feedback is appreciated.

So this story is now finished, but I have plans for a further story following the next step in their lives as soon as I have time to write it and get it all fixed up and ready for consumption.


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